My Wife the SJW
by seriousblahblah
Summary: Ron and Hermione's marriage of social justice, change, humour and odd romance. Because Hermione was first and foremost: an activist. SPEW humour and Santa Clause included...
1. Cupcakes

Ron/Hermione. To me, the defining characteristic of Hermione's personality was NOT her appearance (she was neither a great beauty or terribly ugly), it was NOT her intelligence (although Hermione was extremely intelligent that wasn't the driving force behind her desire or willingness to do good), it was NOT her social skills (Hermione, while a good friend to Harry and Ron, could be rather lacking when it came to getting along with others or very good at making friends); what defined Hermione's personality the most was her willingness to put herself out there, and take major risks, for things she believed in and for the good and well-being of society. In other words, Hermione was a justice warrior to the core :) and I think fanfiction forgets that side of her too often when neglecting how big SPEW and social justice was to her personality. Hermione could be a bit hypocritical too but she loved doing the right thing or what she perceived as the right thing for society and the world. Hermione was literally, and in every other way in her personality, an activist.

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 **1.**

 **Early Morning Squabbles**

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"Hermione, what are you up to now?" Ron asked wearily, one day after he rolled out of bed, got down to their kitchen, and saw that Hermione was already up—at 6 in the morning (she didn't actually have to wake til 7am)—and baking—he sniffed the air—cupcakes?

Hermione wiped her hands on a batter-covered apron she was wearing, one of the horrible aprons his mother had given Hermione as a Christmas present and subtle hint to her daughter-in-law to start cooking.

She raised a brow while checking the timer on her cookies and cupcakes. "What makes you think I'm up to something?"

Ron felt like slapping his forehead. "I dunno. Maybe the fact that I know you, you're up an hour early AND you turned our kitchen into a bloody bakery?"

There were dish pans and trays and cupcake decorations everywhere, it looked like she was planning on feeding an army.

"Very funny Ron. But, actually, I'm just making a _few_ cupcakes and sweets—"

"The muggle way?" he asked sceptically. His wife could be weird sometimes.

"It's the only way I know Ron. You know I'm rubbish at cooking spells, as your mother never ceases to remind me. A delight she is. But," Hermione said with a satisfactory grin as she took out a batch of one of the cookie trays that were done. "I am good at doing it the muggle way."

Ron stared temptingly at the tray of chocolate chip cookies that were already done. "I suppose those aren't for me?"

Hermione shook her head and checked her watch again, clearly in a hurry to go wherever she was going after and doing whatever she was clearly up to. "Nope."

"So where are you taking these damn cookies and cupcakes?" he asked almost jealously.

Hermione smiled tiredly and he was simultaneously amused by the cookie batter in her hair, and chagrined by her obstinacy. "I'm going to take them to the house-elves, of course. It's the anniversary of the creation of SPEW and the SPEW club."

Ron took another closer look at the cookies and now saw the chocolate chips were house-elf shaped with little hats and the cupcakes were decorated with icing socks. _"Merlin almighty."_ He groaned and wondered why he'd bothered to get up early too to see more of his wife's obsession with social justice causes, that were quite irritating to him.

"I'm going back to bed," he groaned and stretched out his back tiredly. "I suggest you do the same. You've already done enough batches to feed an army of elves." He patted over to take out his wand and clean the cookie batter from her delicate brown hair. "You look tired."

Hermione laughed sheepishly, her eyes dark from lack of sleep. "I'm fine, Ron."

"Go to sleep, Hermione. You can save the world another day."

Hermione crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. "Now you know that's not true, Ron. If somebody doesn't do something, then nothing will ever be done."

Ron groaned and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Okay fine. Save the world again, Hermione. I already did it once and once is enough I think!"

Hermione made an angry growl sound low in her throat. "You used to care about house-elves, Ron. It's the reason we had our first kiss because you actually remembered to care what happened to the house-elves during the final battle of Hogwarts!" she reminded him.

"Merlin Godric almighty!" he swore. "And I do care, I've been caring about house-elves ever since we've been married and every other social justice cause you obsess about. But maybe have you ever thought that I feel a little bit forgotten and would like some cupcakes too?"

She chucked the cupcake right at his head.

.

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Haha will they make up or continue fighting? :-) More humour and silly fluff and Santa too coming up.


	2. Santa Free the Elves Clause

[Speed drabble prompt for HSWW: "Where were you when I needed you?"; "I'm a mess."; Hermione/Ron] [Romione ship war challenge; prompts (object) quill, (emotion) trust]

This is bit crack!fic like and a bit early for Christmas but I hope this is mildly funny, let me know what you thought in the review box, cheers x~siriusbarks

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 **Santa, _Legal_ Clause**

 **.**

 **Ho ho ho! Now free my House-Elves!**

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Hermione was outraged. Completely and definitely outraged.

She had stumbled upon Santa's workshop in the North Pole...and the whole thing was overrun with the cheap unpaid labour of house-elves! Countless house-elves! This was slave labour!

She stormed up to Santa Claus and struck out her wand, pointing it at his big, fat hairy belly.

"What is the meaning of this?" she growled. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't detain your butt to the Ministry under my new regulations of the _House-Elf Bill of Rights?_ "

Santa Claus, the wizard, raised his fluffy white brows at her and tried to ho-ho-ho laugh it off. "Hermione Granger, I believe? I never forget a face, I haven't seen you since you were 11 years old and stopped believing in me. Have you been naughty since then?" The wintry wizard asked and there was something familiar about his voice, even though he appeared to be an old man with a fuzzy white beard and glasses.

"Don't try to sweet talk me, Santa," she lectured him back. "I haven't been naughty. It's just that I realized when I was 11 years old that free house-elf labour is actually slave labour." She crossed her arms. "Which means I wouldn't want presents unless created by fair-trade and paid labourers that distribute the wealth and lead to economic development and freedom for non-wizard magical beings."

Santa coughed guiltily. "I'm sorry you don't agree with my ways, Hermione. I didn't think anyone would disagree with my ambition of giving free gifts to children around the world for the sake of generosity and goodwill."

"Tell that to the house-elves," she said and thrust her chin out as she stared down the greedy monopolist. She really wanted to hex this fat lump of Christmas exploitation.

Santa smiled uncomfortably and his legs shifted as he sat down at his Santa throne. "Now, now Hermione, I'm sure we could work out some agreement if you feel the house-elves are being treated unfairly here, though I reassure you they are very happy and some of the happiest house-elves workers in the world—"

"As happy as they would be if they had health benefits, pensions and paid wages?" She coaxed an indignant eyebrow and Santa sighed again.

He held his hands up. "You caught me. My modes of operation are outdated and it's about time for a change in my Christmas-factory operation." His eyes twinkled mischievously and she noticed that Santa had blue eyes. "Why don't you sit on my lap and tell me what it is you want me to change about my factory?"

Hermione cringed. "Is it really necessary that I sit on your lap to tell you these things? Can't I just Owl you a list and set of basic worker regulations and minimum wage suggestions from my office at the Ministry?"

Santa sighed again and Hermione had the strangest feeling that this man was familiar and not really Santa at all...

"It's customary, that if I grant a Christmas wish, the child—or er, adult—sits on my laps and tells me what they want...After all this is your Christmas wish, isn't it Hermione?"

"Fine," Hermione said unsteadily and walked up to sit on Santa's lap. "It is rather undignified though," she said as she got out a quill and parchment and started to write down everything Santa should change about his factory operation.

When she finally finished—and it was rather comfortable sitting in Santa's comfy, plushy large lap—the scroll of parchment ran about 10 pages long and was more detailed than the Geneva Convention. She was very pleased with it however. She smiled as she handed over the list to Santa.

"Here you go—" Her words hung off her lips, however, as she realized that Santa's hair had changed. "Why is your hair red?"

Santa shrugged. "What? Wasn't it always red?"

"No!" She glared at him, wondering why he was lying. "Santa's hair is always white. Why did you change it?"

"I didn't," Santa shrugged but then she noticed that he had changed again and was suddenly much slimmer under his Santa suit.

"Don't lie, it was white a minute ago. Hey what's going on!" she shouted at the deceitful Santa as she jumped off his lap. "Why is your appearance changing?"

"Am I?"

"Are you actually Santa or an impostor?" She stared at him as his face seemed to be getting younger.

Santa shrugged and held onto the list she'd given him. He started to read the list, but she was too distracted by Santa's changing appearance to really concentrate on the more important issue of House-elf rights and law reformations.

"Santa," she said finally. "Are you really him or someone else?"

She stared directly at his blue eyes which were now young and more familiar than ever.

"Why don't you pull at my beard." Santa winked. "I think you might find me more attractive underneath and then we can get really naughty..."

Without knowing if this was the right thing or not, she reached a hand out to Santa's fluffy obviously fake beard and pulled it off—and screamed when she saw who it was.

~o~

 _"Ron!"_ she screamed again and again. _"Ron you're Santa! You're the one who's been enslaving house-elves for all these_ _years!? How could you do this behind my back? Where were you when I needed you to free the house-elves?"_

She suddenly heard a snicker behind her and she realized she was in bed, back at their flat.

Ron laughed and wrapped his warm arms around her for behind. "Mione, it was only a dream. What in Merlin's name are you mumbling about?" he murmured sleepily. "Did you call me Santa?" he said as she tried to kiss her on the neck.

She detached herself from his arms and quickly turned around to make sure she was looking at the Real Ron and not Santa or Ron with a fake beard from her dream.

Ron smirked at her. "What is it? Hermione why are you looking at me like the bogeyman?"

Hermione shivered with laughter and shook her head, as relief overwhelmed her. "Oh god, I'm sorry Ron, I just had the most horrible nightmare."

"That I was Santa?" Ron asked and one of his hands reached out to rub soothingly against her arm.

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm so sorry. I think it's because we had another argument before we fell asleep about house-elves and I blame you for everything, I think my subconscious felt like you were an oppressor or something because you're a pureblood." She realized she was rambling and apologized to Ron again.

Ron chuckled at that. "Hermione you know I want to free them too. Just not as passionately as you do. So sometimes I get a little behind on things...I'm sorry too."

"No. I'm a mess, Ron. I shouldn't blame you... like when I argued about the presents last night, ugh!" She began to laugh at her dream. "Can you imagine I made you into big bad Santa in my dream?"

Ron chuckled and he wrapped her closer to him and chuckled against her ear. "Now, as long as the house-elves are free, I wouldn't mind being your bad Santa."

She immediately kissed him. "Merry Christmas."

.

Their Christmas was filled with love, laughter and completely fair-trade and handmade gifts only. Not that this was anything new to Ron. He had grown up receiving hand-knitted sweaters from his mum, despite being a pureblood, so he was perfectly happy to receive lumpy Christmas cookies and gifts.

~O~

a/n - Ho ho ho!


	3. Santa Baby

**[Speed drabble prompts: careful, Hermione/Ron, "Did you really think you could get away with that?"] [Also for shipping war: romione vs harmony]**

 **btw I have no clue why I'm writing christmas stories in the middle of autumn, in early october. I swear I'm not a christmas fanatic. I was in a halloween store today...well I hope someone reads this in december too and I've got other christmas stories and plenty of different non-romione stories if you want to read some of it...and huge thanks to notsing, debs and serenite rose for their lovely reviews, it is much appreciated!**

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 **.**

 **Santa Legal Clause 2**

 **by siriusbarks**

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 _"Santa Baby hurry down the chimney...tonight."_

Hermione woke with a smile on her face as she opened her eyes and her ears were feasted on the tune of 'Santa Baby" and other old smoochy, jazzy classics. _This is just perfect,_ she thought. _This is going to be perfect._ It was Christmas Eve after all and it was snowing abundant little flakes outside her window. (Plus, last night was very perfect and a bit naughty with Santa Ron...) She turned with a satisfied sigh to wrap her arms around her very own Naughty Santa who had done so much the previous night to tease her.

However, she was glum and bummed out to see that Ron had already gotten up before her. Which was odd, since Ron usually never got up before her. She was the early riser and early bird in their relationship and the redhead was a notorious sleepy head who could sleep like a drunken sailor through a storm without being woken.

"Ron where are you?" she called out from the open doorway of their bedroom to their empty flat. "Ron?"

She got up quickly and put some of the plush, red fluffy slippers with Reindeer heads Ginny had given her. The slippers were completely ridiculous but Ginny assured her they were homemade...and besides, truth be told, Hermione occasionally liked silly and sentimental tacky Christmas ornaments and clothing. She'd only made a whole batch of Christmas themed sweaters and hats for the elves back when she'd been in the throes of SPEW in her 6th year...

 _"Ron...?"_ She walked into their living room which was deserted except for their white couches and the lovely non-killed, living Christmas tree they had decorated together with (because chopping down trees just for one day of holiday was wrong). She paced into their marble countertop kitchen, expecting to see her red-haired hubby there chomping down on some pancakes or the coconut puff cookies his mom had sent him. But the kitchen was empty too and she noticed then that there were little sprinkles of magically-conjured snow trailing a path through their flat.

Hermione suddenly smirked and decided to change tactics, to tease him out of hiding. "Santa baby where are you?" she called him by the naughty name she had screamed last night as her very own Santa gave her the gift of a lifetime. She still had chills remembering how Santa-Ron had conjured up magical, heated snow in their own bed and then proceeded to lick it off her-

She suddenly was rewarded by a familiar chuckle. Which was coming from their fireplace.

 _Oh Merlin,_ he didn't really hide up in there did he? Now she had to roll her eyes. "Ron I really hope you're not hiding in the fireplace chimney."

She heard Ron cough, though she couldn't quite tell if it came from the fireplace or the closet directly beside it.

"Would it bother you if I were?" Ron asked through what seemed to be a wall or a pile of bricks.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Just get out of that chimney, now, Ron. Before I use my wand to apply a retrieving charm to get your butt out of there!"

Ron snickered. "Of course you'd like that. You couldn't get enough of my arse last night, or should I say Santa's—I had no idea Santa was your thing—"

"Get out of there _now_ , Ron!" Truthfully, she was rather worried what might happen if Harry or one of the Weasleys were suddenly to appear in the Floo while Ron was still there. The idiot might get a magical reaction or burn from the Floo flames. And here he was making jokes while half-way stuck up a chimney.

"Do I have to use my Retrieving Charm to get you out?" she reminded him. Goodness, he needed to be more careful.

"No." Ron called back with a groan deep inside the brick chimney. "I'll get down myself, _bloody witch_ , and I'm carrying all your presents—"

She sighed in relief as she heard a loud thud from Ron jumping down the chimney and finally crawling out of their chimney, wearing a very dirty-and-soot covered Santa Suit. He was also wearing no shirt—or likely underwear—underneath his suit and she was treated to the sight of his lightly muscled bare chest.

"So was that romantic or not?" Ron grinned at her and wiped some of the soot off his face.

Hermione raised a brow while surveying him very skeptically. "Ron, you have soot on your nose. Not that it doesn't make me sentimental, considering you had some when we first met."

Ron, if were possible, blushed underneath his soot covered face. "Hermione please don't remind. I was just a kid."

"No, it's actually kind of cute. We first met and I was looking for Neville's toad and the first thing I said to you was 'you have dirt on your nose'."

"You were a swot," he grumbled, though not without a smirk on his blackened soot covered face. "Merry Christmas," he said with very little enthusiasm remaining.

He handed her a bag of presents, which was also heavily blackened and covered in soot. "I got up extra early so that you could be here when you woke up."

"Wait...You actually got up _early_ , for once, for me?" she intoned. That alone was almost enough to make her cry.

"Yes," Ron said and rolled his eyes at her surprise.

Hermione held the bag of presents closer. "Ron that actually impresses me more than you going up an actual chimney dressed as Santa."

"Blimey, I wish I had known that before I bothered to use an expansion charm to get up the bleeding chimney."

"Are you really that fat?" she teased.

"No," he said. "I'm actually just a fully grown male and that chimney is damn small even for a midget." He ran his eyes up her. "Though I think you could fit..."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him. "Don't get any ideas, Naughty Santa. I think we're done with chimneys today..."

"But I'm still covered in soot," he pleaded as she covered his face with kisses, dirtying up her own face with black marks as she did so.

"Santa could just change his clothes," she reminded him.

"Or I could just dirty you up too," he murmured admiring how his hands had left blackened hand-prints on her face and pants.

"Santa, I think, is very naughty."

Ron chuckled softly and loosened the buttons on his Santa suits. "Well, you were asking for it last night." He played with her ear using his tongue. "Did you really think you could get away with _that_?"

Hermione stifled a laugh, and dropped away the bag of presents he'd given her and which she'd still not opened. "In that case, Santa, you can write me on the naughty list too. I don't really need any presents."

Ron grinned.

~o~

a/n: I still don't know why I'm writing christmas in august...well I blame ilprincipino's speed drabbles for some reason they make me writer romione xmasses

thanks for reading :) hohoho

~siriusbarks


	4. Doubts and Reassurance

[Written for Dramioneforever] [Also written for a person who PM me to say they were feeling suicidal. I'm sorry anyone ever feels that way and I hope this might cheer you up. There's a message in it at the end which I hope you will keep with you.] [Warning for fluff and some corniness towards the end]

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 _"No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it to anyone else." -Charles Dickens_

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 **Doubts**

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"Ron, I'm worried." Hermione mumbled and bit at the wool coming loose at the end of her sleeve. Lately, she didn't know why, but she had a nervous habit of nibbling on things. Almost like a craving, a constant need to chew on something if she wasn't at the office or busy lobbying at the Ministry to save the world...she grew restless.

There were so many issues to solve, so many people in need, so many house-elves and other magical creatures who were oppressed.

And on top of it all, were Wizard Supremacists like Draco Malfoy, Blaise, the Nott family and the Parkinson family. Each of these old pureblood families had unelected and inviolable seats in the House of Lords. They still had considerable political power in the Ministry.

They made passing new laws and reformations a living nightmare; each law helping werewolves, house-elves or trying to get equal rights for muggleborns...was blockaded in votes by the pureblood Lords.

"I want to change so much...I want to make sure house-elves are never beaten or forced to serve abusive masters again; I want to make sure muggleborns aren't discriminated against racially, but have the same opportunities to succeed, I want to make sure werewolves are never turned down from jobs illegally, or that witches are shamed for doing the same things as wizards. I want to make sure that no animal or magic creature should have to suffer or be slaughtered to be used in potion ingredients. I want to protect the rain forests, I want to make sure unicorns aren't hunted into extinction..." Hermione drew in a deep breath before looking up at Ron. "...but I feel so powerless."

"Hermione, you're doing what you can. It's not going to change overnight."

"I know...but everything I do," she said frantically, "they try to oppose. It's the damn House of Lords, they're all a bunch of bigoted oligarchs. They really couldn't care less about house-elf liberation or muggle rights. They look at me as if I'm mad—Merlin, sometimes I think I really am mad for even trying to change things in such an inert society."

"The bastards aren't worth the salt of your tears. These assholes were born with a silver-spoon up their arse, so high they can't even feel or see their own bullshit."

Hermione tried not to laugh—though the idea that Draco Malfoy had a silver spoon up his behind—well it was enough to make her smile through her stinging tears.

Ron brushed aside some of her tears and kissed her cheeks, sanctifying and restoring her with his love and assurance.

"You'll beat them Hermione." Ron took her hand and pressed it to his lips, warming the cool flesh of her palm with his higher temperature. "Trust me, I believe in you. You're a winner."

Her heart nearly broke when she heard those words; it was true, Ron did believe in her, and who was she to doubt herself if Ron did not?

She held back her tears and leaned into his arms. "You're right, if you believe in me, that's all that matters."

Ron held her tightly around the shoulders and buried his face into her hair, inhaling her scent deeply. "Hermione, I've known you forever, you've never let anything stand in your way ever. You're greater than that. You're bloody brilliant. You're scary even. You are a force to be reckoned with. The prats in the House of Lords won't even know what hit them when you knock them all down."

Hermione sniffed, trying to get her nose to stop watering. "I wish I could believe that." She rubbed a stray eyelash off her face and made a wish. "The prats do get to me at times, though. They still have so much..undeserved and unearned power!"

Ron held her by the chin and lifted her face to meet his eyes. "All the more reason why I want to see you beat their pretentious arses by passing every Law and Reformation for social change right under their elitist noses. Til they can't even say a word to stop all the changes you democratically veto in."

Hermione's lips stretched into a smirk. "Merlin, I do want to see that too. Especially the look on Lord Parkinson's face when I pass a law to make hereditary claims on house-elves illegal."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Not sure exactly what that law means, but if it pisses off Lord Parkinson, I want to see it passed too."

Hermione cheered up even more. "And I want to pass another law which will make hunting wild unicorns illegal. Did you know that the Malfoy's are heavily involved in the unicorn-ivory trade and make quite a profit from it?"

Ron smirked. "Then you'll put a nice dent into the Malfoy's profits. Perfect." His blue eyes darkened slightly as he took in her pouting lips. "Can't you see how much power you have if you can piss off all these lords and pureblood families that don't want to see change?"

Hermione nibbled at her lower lip again as she mulled that over. She wished the process of passing laws could be faster and more democratic, without the influence of the House of Lords and other unelected bodies that held voting power. However, there was still wriggle room to work with, especially if she was constant and unrelenting in her lobbying. So perhaps Ron was right about holding more political sway than she felt was under her now. She could use the various streams of democratic avenues in the Ministry to formulate into one big change.

"You're getting me to see the glass half-full," she admitted with a more than cheerful smile by now. Ron, despite being a bit of a prat when they first started dating, had really emotionally matured into a supportive husband now that they were both older. She could rely and depend on Ron, emotionally, in a way that she couldn't before when they were younger; he was her anchor. "Thank you."

Ron pushed back a stray strand of her. "You'll beat them Hermione. I believe in you."

Her smile was now as wide as a Cheshire's cat, all doubt, fear and pessimism gone. Ron really could cheer her up in an instant. "I needed that."

Ron reciprocated her smile before leaning over again and teasing her bottom lip with his. "I think we've had enough political talk for today."

She yelped as he suddenly lifted her by the waist over his shoulders and back to their cozy, linen blanketed, white-walled bedroom.

.

Overall, Hermione was a very powerful modern woman who led the world fiercely and never showed any weakness on the surface when she was campaigning in the public.

However, at home, it was a different story, and she was perfectly fine showing her vulnerable side to Ron. Ron was her husband and still her best friend after all this time. Ron was someone she could always trust to be honest about his own feelings—if only because he was complete rubbish at hiding his own emotions and incapable of being duplicitous. Another quality she loved about him, Ron was hopelessly sincere and himself.

Ron sat down beside her on the bed and watched as she undid her jacket and pantsuit. She glanced at him from under her eyelashes and her toes curled up in her shoes as she felt a sweet tingle of anticipation wash over her. Her whole body felt intoxicated with feelings of warmth and serotonin for him; their bond, their unit of trust, the knowledge that they had each other's back in this sometimes confusing world.

"You're really good at this."

"At what?"

"At being married to me, of being supportive."

"Well, I'm rubbish at everything else." He leaned back against their head board with a smug grin. His arms crossed over his chest; he was wearing one of the hand-knit sweaters his mum made. Ron was still a down to earth guy after all this time, despite now being wealthy and a war hero too.

"Don't enact false modesty, Ron." She crawled over him on her hands and knees and placed another little peck on his cheek before lowering her lips to his.

He grinned again before he met her lips with full force. Unapologetic and fully claiming her to him, her whole person, body, mind and soul.

.

Ron was the shoulder she cried on, the person who cheered her up when she was down, the person she shared her smiles with when she feeling up and ready to take over the world again.

Ron soothed her and when she was too tired to see her own strength, he remade her, in his own image of her tireless fierceness and strength. He showed her what she really was.

With his fingertips, he brought her back to life.

She looked up at him with love-clouded eyes. "Thank you," she said again as he lifted her thighs and hips to meet his.

 _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

Love heals hate. The world could be a better place. There were good people. You just had to find them or become one of them. You held the goodness in your hand and refused to let it go, no matter how many corrupt ones tried to buy you off, discourage, exclude or attack you.

Ron held her tight and whispered words that she would always hold dear in her soul, in the pit where it was darkest, these words would begin to build a light from which would stem an everlasting self-belief and new found confidence: _"Always believe in yourself. Never give up."_

Always believe in yourself.

Always believe in yourself.

Always believe in yourself.

Never give up.

Never give up.

Never give up.

Never give up.

You are strong.

.

.

a/n - so this was probably very corny but I do think every person has untapped power they could use to change their lives and the environment and the well-being of animals. Tap into some of your power and be surprised, shocked, even. If you believe you are powerless, it's because you're believing a lie and illusion. A good way to start is by shopping choices: buy clothing and other goods second hand, stop buying things from large corporations-if you have a choice, always choose to buy and eat at local businesses and independent businesses. Avoid buying needless consumer products and try to recycle things. Always get your pets fixed and never give money to puppy farms and breeders, they are too many dogs and cats in shelters dying everyday. If you see bullying or someone being treated differently because of their race, disability or beliefs, stand by their side so they're not alone. I made the mistake once of not standing up for someone and it has bothered me ever since. I'd rather scream at and defend someone then let them think they can bully someone vulnerable, weaker or younger.


	5. Black or White

AU! Self aware, modern times Ron/Hermione

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 **Shades of Hermione: It Doesn't Matter if You're Black or White**

Hermione put down her newspaper with a slap. She was furious, and upset..and there were so many things bothering her about the issue, that she wasn't even sure where to start. She bit nervously at her fingers and reread the article a few times, before finally throwing her copy of the Daily Prophet into the fireplace where it immediately burned up in flames.

She turned to Ron, her husband of the last two years, who was sitting beside her at the breakfast table. His blue eyes alerted to the ashen expression on his wife's face, and he knew immediately that something was very wrong.

He panicked for a moment, as he wondered what bad news she might bring, but then Hermione squeezed his hand and he knew that whatever issue it was, it was not life threatening.

"Hermione?"

Silently, she nodded, as if allaying his fears.

Still he asked. "What's wrong?"

Hermione thought for a moment, trying to control her rage, before she spoke. "Wrong doesn't even begin to cover it. More like outrageous." She muttered. "I can't believe this has happened!"

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what was going to happen next, because he knew Hermione did not get upset easily unless it was over a social justice cause that affected her deeply. Because she had a really big heart and she often poured her heart out whenever she heard about another case of Elf Abuse or anything like that.

He tried to be the voice of reason, to calm her down. "Uhh what exactly happened?"

"There's this play, about our lives, in the muggle world and they're upset that I got cast as Black!"

Ron thought that over for a minute, while Hermione continued to stew.

"Well, you weren't Black or African in the movies. Maybe it's the issue of consistency?" he suggested reasonably. Ron was always reasonable these days, while he had been more melodramatic as a teenager, he had really matured in his 20s and balanced out Hermione's more fiery personality.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So? What does it matter? Why can't another human being play me?" Hermione chewed at her lip but really her expression was troubled. Her large brown eyes were watery with disappointment. "I can't believe that in this day and age, people still get outraged over skin colour. You'd think they'd be happy that I am being played by a competent actress, regardless of her skin colour...But no! All they care about is the colour of my skin."

Ron stared down at his unfinished coffee cup. "That is pretty petty. I mean, it's all fictional after all. Why should they care who plays you?"

"That's my point, Ron. And the fact that they are so outraged that the actress is black, just makes it worse. Don't they know that Hermione, I, me, have always been a minority character?"

"Yeah," Ron smiled almost sadly. "Although I love you to death. Unfortunately, being muggleborn does make you minority status and there are still some pricks who would treat you less for it."

Hermione shrugged. She was very strong. "Still I never let it stop me, did I?"

Ron's smile grew and he leaned over to kiss his wife on the neck. "No, Hermione, you helped us kick Voldemort's arse and the Death Eaters. That's what I love about you, you've always been this kickass girl that doesn't take no for an answer."

Hermione felt a smile grow on her face, slowly ebbing away the anger and worry that had been there a moment ago. "You had to deal with bullying, too, Ron. Being ginger and a Weasley, especially when your family was having financial struggles, wasn't that easy either."

Ron played with her hand, holding it in his own much larger hands. "No, it wasn't." He could joke about it, but really he couldn't even begin to list the number of times he'd been made fun of for being a Weasley, ginger or poor. The teasing had only really stopped when he, Harry and Hermione won the bloody war...for the world. Still, even with his new hero status, a part of him still carried his old insecurities of being discriminated against for his hair colour.

"The world isn't perfect, Hermione," Ron said suddenly and he held out her hand again, pressing it with the strength of his own. "But with you and us together, I know we can make it better." He smiled. "The same way, we took down Voldemort together."

Hermione held his hand tighter as memories flooded back to her of the Final Battle where they both had been so afraid for their lives, that they threw caution to the wind, and admitted their feelings to each other.

It had been a bold act. Then again, both Ron and her had taken many bold steps many times over the years. They were Gryffindors: they weren't cowards, they stood up for what was right. Whether it was difficult or not,

"I've never regretted it." Hermione smiled. "Not for one second. You've been by my side ever since."

Ron shrugged then his blue eyes lit up with some mischief, a bit like his brothers the twins. "I have an idea. Have you ever heard of Micheal Jackson?"

Hermione's ears perked up.

.

Later that night, after much laughter and drinking of homemade pumpkin liquor and a bit of kinky conversation about Witches Most Wanted Weekly...because they liked to keep the conversation light sometimes, Ronald Weasley and his wife settled down into their living room and Ron took out his guitar. He'd only been learning to play guitar recently, as a way to deal with the trauma of the war. Yet guitar playing, while Hermione sang, was something they bonded over.

"Ready?" Ron asked as he fingers twitched over the guitar strings and he admired how beautiful his wife was and how much he wanted to make love to her...after they'd done their little music number...

"As ready as I'll ever be." Hermione smiled widely, her spirit somewhat freed by pumpkin liquor she had drunk, and so she began to sing unselfconsciously the words of the song they wrote together. She had a soft lilting voice.

[The song was to the beat of "Black and White" by Michael Jackson, which Ron played on the guitar.]

 _ **If You Want to be Hermione, It Doesn't Matter if You're Black or White!**_

 _._

 _So they wrote a new play called "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child"_

 _It's set in London and they have a new cast_

 _Because this is set in the future, not in the past_

 _So they choose middle aged actors to play adult Harry, Ron and Hermione..._

 _...Well, what do you know? It started a controversy_

 _When the new Hermione, turned out to be black!_

 _ **~o~**_

 _It was quite shocking how the fans react_

 _Complaining that Hermione shouldn't be black_

 _Whatever happened to learning the message of the books_

 _and looking deeper than how somebody looks?_

 _Or did they all secretly think Voldemort should've won?_

 _And that only people with the right skin colour and blood should have a chance?_

 _This reeks of partisanship who want every character to be a certain race_

 _otherwise they won't even give the play a chance_

 _ **~o~**_

 _But you know what Michael Jackson would say?_

 _Here's what he'd say:_

 _I took my Hermione on a Saturday broomstick ride_  
 _I didn't care what colour she was as long as she's by my side_  
 _Yes, this Gryffindor girl, we're one and the same_

 _Loving books, SPEW rights, and not caring about fame_

 _Now I believe magic doesn't only happen at Hogwarts_

 _And a miracle has happened tonight_

 _Because finally we have People of Colour represented in the books_

 _And guess what? Not everything is about looks_

 _ **Because if you're thinkin' about being Hermione**_  
 _ **It don't matter if you're black or white!**_

 _ **~o~**_

 _They print my message in the Saturday Sun_  
 _Noma Dumezweni had to tell them she ain't second to none_

 _Emma Watson is a good actress, but so is she_

 _And Noma Dumezweni told about equality_  
 _And it's true, JK Rowling agreed_  
 _Either you're wrong or you're right_

 _ **But if you're thinkin' about being Hermione Granger**_  
 _ **It don't matter if you're black or white!**_

 _ **~o~**_

 _I am tired of this Death Eater hate telling me not welcome and go away_  
 _I am tired of this pureblood stuff telling me I ain't welcome or good enough_  
 _I am tired of this show business where 99% of people cast are the same race_  
 _So when the going gets rough_

 _Don't tell me you agree with equality_  
 _When I saw you kicking dirt in JK's eye_

 _ **But if you're thinkin' about being Hermione**_  
 _ **It don't matter if you're black or white**_

 _ **I said if you're thinkin' of being Hermione**_  
 _ **It don't matter if you're black or white**_

 _ **I said if you're thinkin' of being my brother**_  
 _ **It don't matter if you're black or white**_

 _ **~o~**_

* * *

A/N: I rewrote this several times...I tend to be all over the place politically, always changing my mind every day. Yet I have a sense of humour and I tend to poke fun at both the extreme left and the extreme right...but at the end of the day, no matter what is said or done: I see every person on an individual basis, not a stereotype.

I also grew up in a multicultural city, so I had black friends as a kid and I never really saw any difference between them and me or anyone else. I still have good memories of my funny friend who was a total snob and the biggest nerd ever (literally Hermione Granger in african form). And in my experience, nerdy bookworms come in all races (indian, chinese, native etc)

So it was really disappointing to see how much outrage there was over the casting of Noma in the play...people please, it's a fictional story and you should judge each actor by their acting, not their skin colour


End file.
